


Fever 102º

by whalehuntingboyfriends



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, OT6, Sick Fic, can you tell i like stories about them working out issues at the start of the relationship, mavin and micheoff centric pretty much, not tagging the others because they're not physically in the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:56:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2424425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalehuntingboyfriends/pseuds/whalehuntingboyfriends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is sick, and feeling vulnerable, and the nightmares induced by Geoff's brilliant idea of playing P.T. right before bed are really not helping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever 102º

**Author's Note:**

> For greenpuma88, who requested Michael h/c. Ask and ye shall receive~

Like many things that went wrong in the world, it was primarily Kerry’s fault.

Guy had come into work on the tail end of a cold, which meant hacking up phlegm constantly, and snot running from his nose like a faucet, and a frankly unbelievable quantity of used tissues - all over the Achievement Hunter office, because with Ray, Ryan and Jack on the other side of the country for a convention, they were three short for Let’s Plays and Kerry and Lindsay were the chosen two to sit in with them (take that, youtube comments section).

It was fucking inconsiderate, in Michael’s opinion. If you were sick you shouldn’t come in.

(“But Michael,” Gavin had said, “By the time you show symptoms you’re not contagious any more. _Science,_ Michael.”

“Tell that to fucking zombies,” was Michael’s reply, which he was rather proud of, and not inclined to take Gavin’s word for it anyway considering the man never took a day off himself even when he was shitting the entire Pacific Ocean out of his asshole, Jesus Christ).

But yes. Kerry, with his fucking cold, and his fucking coughing and sneezing all over the place. Or all over the _gaff_ , as Gavin might say. Gavin who was currently squirming in Michael’s lap, digging the sharp edges of his bony arse into places that Michael found painful and unpleasant.

It wasn’t the sexy sort of squirming either. It was the terrified sort, because Geoff had decided that Gavin deserved to be as traumatised as the rest of them and had thus forced him to play through the entirety of P.T. 

Which Michael would normally have found funny, except he felt like _shit_ \- since they got home from work he had begun to feel lethargic, tired, and it had built up over the course of the evening until now his bones ached and he could feel a headache forming and the beginnings of a tickle in his throat, and okay, yeah, definitely coming down with something.

He was trying his damnedest to ignore it, though, because with half of them gone it meant more work for the rest of them, and the last thing he wanted to do was have to take a day off and leave Plan G shouldering the entirety of Achievement Hunter by themselves. (And for the record, there was a big difference between ignoring impending illness and Gavin’s stupid overcome-it-with-the-power-of-your-mind theory. That was not what Michael was doing at all. Just, no.)

“ _Shit_ on my nipples,” Gavin yelled as he encountered a jump scare; Geoff, who was sitting beside them, startled with a whimper as well. Michael had been too distracted to jump, and when he tried to focus back on the game his headache intensified by about 530%  - the fact that they were sitting in a dark room and the screen was on maximum brightness was not helping - and not particularly wanting to sit through another hour or so of Gavin screaming loudly in his ear, he made the tactical decision to go to bed.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna go take a shower,” he said - his voice came out quieter than he liked, almost weak, but Geoff barely seemed to notice as he glanced over with a nod, seeming far more interested in what Gavin was going to say when he encountered the sink-fetus.

“Okay,” he replied, distractedly.

Michael tried to stand up but Gavin was still on his lap. He pinched him in the side, drawing a yelp.

“Move, asshole.”

“Aw, where are you going, Michael? Are you too scared to watch?” Gavin asked, still only half-listening as he continued to play the game.

“No, I said I was going to go take a shower, are you fucking deaf? Get off my lap so I can move.” The irritation had risen up a little too quickly, perhaps, but he was _sick_ and _not in the mood_ and deteriorating by the second, his throat felt like sandpaper now - and Gavin didn’t seem offended, anyway, sliding off Michael’s lap and throwing himself into Geoff’s instead.

He got up, heading for the bathroom, but then, for whatever reason, paused and looked back at them.

Neither of them had particularly acknowledged his leaving. They were both still intently focused on the horrors of the Silent Hill bathroom - but suddenly all Michael could notice was just how comfortably Gavin sat sprawled in Geoff’s lap, the two of them slotting together like puzzle pieces, Geoff’s arms wrapped tight around the other’s waist and his chin resting on his shoulder, occasionally moving to hide his face in Gavin’s hair whenever something particularly sinister happened onscreen.

Something uneasy squirmed in Michael’s gut, and it wasn’t just from the sickness.

 _Don’t be stupid. Don’t be_ stupid. _Why the fuck should you ever be jealous - they’re_ both _your boyfriends, for fuck’s sake. You’re_ all fucking dating each other _._

And it _was_ stupid - _it_ _was_ \- except that Geoff and Gavin had been the first. Had known each other a fucking long time - practically the entirety of Gavin’s adult life - and even now that they were all together, they were the only two who actually permanently lived with one another, though by this point they were practically all in each other’s pockets anyway, sleeping over at Geoff’s or Jack’s half the time, or dividing into pairs otherwise.

It had never bothered Michael before - he’d barely ever even noticed it - and he wasn’t sure why he was now.

Except that the other three were gone.

Ray and Jack and Ryan, off at that con together - leaving the rest of them here at home. Geoff and Gavin. _And Michael, the third._

He kicked himself instantly. _Don’t be a bitch about it you fuck, you’re not a third wheel you’re a third of the_ fucking relationship.

But now he’d worked himself into a mood, and if he slammed the door a little on his way out to the bathroom, he was pretty sure they couldn’t hear it over Gavin screaming about the “Bloody smeg baby in the smegging sink!”

 

* * *

 

The shower did not help.

The shower sort of made things ten times worse because it was really, really warm in there, and when Michael stepped out it meant he felt really, really cold. Like, alarmingly cold. Like put-your-hand-to-your-forehead-and-do-you-have-a-fever-you-can’t-tell-because-your-hand-is-the-same-temperature-as-your-head cold.

His headache was even worse now, a constant, dull throbbing at the back of his skull, and he’d given up hope entirely for his throat. It was with sluggish movements that he dressed, took a painkiller and then made for the bedroom.

Only to pause, reconsider and head for the guest room instead. Sleeping with the other two would only spread it to them as well - and obviously Gav was wrong about the ‘symptoms meaning you’re past the contagious stage’ thing because otherwise Michael wouldn’t be living, breathing proof that Kerry was a walking biohazard zone.

For a moment he wondered whether he should go and tell the other two he was sick.

 _Well fucking obviously_ , the rational part of his brain pointed out - but something still made him hesitate.

Because here was the thing - it had been, what, four months since they all got together? That wasn’t that long - no one had really gotten sick in that time, considering it’d been over the summer - and Michael was used to taking care of himself. Hell, he _preferred_ it, because it was one thing to jokingly admit to feeling like shit or even to get grumpy about it, but genuine weakness was just. Not something that sat easy with him, not something he knew if he was quite ready to let all the others in on. Especially given who they all _were_ ; that soft sort of sentiment was not really something they all got in on - there was still some level of macho-ness to six guys in a relationship together. Take Gavin’s little food poisoning incident. Hadn’t they all laughed then.

 _It’s just a cold_ , he reasoned - and besides, he could still hear them over in the living room. Geoff was laughing uproariously at something. Gavin he couldn’t hear, which meant he was either doing his nearly-silent-croaky-giggle thing or Geoff was sitting on top of him - in any case, Michael suddenly didn’t want to bother them. Because he knew if they knew he was sick they would stop playing and then he’d be, like, the bother that ruined all the fun.

 _You’re being stupid_.

Maybe he was, but he went ahead with it anyway, making his way to the guest room and crawling into bed, switching the light off quickly.

Under the darkness of the covers he pulled his phone out - the bright glow made his eyes hurt, headache throbbing again, but he ignored it - and went to check his texts. There were a bunch of goodnights and little messages the others had sent him throughout the day, but he frowned as he realised the time zone difference meant it would be some ungodly hour interstate by now, and none of them were likely to be awake.

He tossed the phone aside and kicked himself as he realised that he felt _lonely_. Which was _fucking ridiculous_ because even if the other three weren’t there, it was for work reasons - and Gavin and Geoff were right in the next room anyway and _they love you, you love them, they’re both your fucking boyfriends - no one plays favourites in this relationship, you moron_.

And fuck if that wasn’t true because there was _no way_ this would ever work if some of the links were weaker than others. There was just no way. Each connection was _unique_ , sure - Michael loved Gavin differently to the way he loved Geoff to the way he loved Ray, or Ryan, or Jack - but he loved them all _equally_ and he knew they felt the same way towards him. Team Nice Dynamite was no weaker than Plan G, God no.

But the fever - that was it, the fever, the fever that even now made him feel like his eyes were going to burn out of his skull, that was leaving him sluggish and confused even as he wasn’t sure whether he was still awake anymore - it had him paranoid, suddenly. Or not even paranoid, just - unsure. Unsure as to whether this could all really go on working seamlessly, scattered as they were across different houses and apartments - 

And it was hard, sometimes, striking a balance. He wouldn’t give any of the boys up for the world but it could be _exhausting_ holding onto five different relationships at the same time-

It was worry, more than anything else. Worry that it _wouldn’t_ work out.

They were doubts he’d had before - they all had - but now, sick and lying alone in the dark, too hot and too cold at the same time… now they seemed greater than ever.

He couldn’t push them from his mind, but to the clamour of his own thoughts and the still distant shouting from the living room, he drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.

 

* * *

 

It had not been a good idea to watch P.T. before bed.

It had _not been a good fucking idea_ to watch P.T. before bed, Jesus fucking Christ. The dreams weren’t about P.T. though, although that had undoubtedly been the instigator that pushed his mind in the ‘scary horror game’ direction while he slept - they were, funnily enough, about Outlast.

He was with Gavin, crouched in the security room the same way they had been that Play Pals session, and there was something coming towards them - one of the psychopathic killers - and he kept saying, “Gavin, get in the locker - get in the locker Gav - _get in the fucking locker-_ ” except Gavin refused to move, or maybe he wasn’t there at all, and so Michael got in the locker on his own and then the next thing he knew the dream skipped and he was alone, in a different part of the asylum.

It was dark and he was cold - really, really cold - and his throat hurt so much he could barely swallow. He thought it might be because he had been strangled by something. A monster perhaps. 

He knew - with the vague, background knowledge that dreams always give you - that the others were all in here somewhere with him, in other parts of the building, and that he had to find them. 

He set off. His movements were sluggish as though he was wading through chest-deep water and he felt a terrible sense of impending doom, like he needed to move faster but couldn’t. And the more he walked the more he began to panic, because he kept seeing things from the corner of his eye - terrible twisted figures from the game - and he could hear crying, like that stupid baby from P.T., except in the logic of the dream he thought it was Ray, for some reason, and that he was around here somewhere and he had to find him, and-

Everything was confused, and then he thought something was _chasing_ him but he still couldn’t move faster-

And he felt afraid, afraid, _afraid_ , and he had to get away. He had to find the others - 

But he _couldn’t -_

And he was alone-

 _Alone_ -

And the nightmare skipped again. Suddenly he was in darkness, total darkness. Something was in the room with him, he could hear it breathing - ragged, choking gasps, like they had been sobbing.

There was night vision in Outlast, he recalled, and then somehow turned it on in his dream. 

The room was a dank basement, the floor covered in three inches of water. Geoff was lying on the floor nearby, still and pale and staring sightlessly up at the ceiling, and Gavin was kneeling next to him, rocking back and forth.

Somehow Michael knew that the monsters had gotten to him - that it was _his_ fault, somehow, for not being there to tell them to hide in the lockers. That that was how you survived.

“Where are the others?” he asked, or tried to - when he attempted to speak his throat set on fire with pain and he tried to swallow again but couldn’t. It hurt too much.

Gavin heard him anyway. “They’re gone,” was all he said - and suddenly Michael realised he should have known that. Ray, Ryan and Jack were gone - except suddenly he thought, _permanently? They’re not coming back_? And that made sense to him, at that moment, that it was true - and a crushing sadness overtook him.

He knelt beside Geoff as well and looked at his body and felt like he was going to cry, and next to him he could feel Gavin shaking and reached out to try and pull him into a hug, but Gavin shoved him away.

“Fuck off, Michael, I don’t want you, I want Geoff.”

The words sent a terrible pang through Michael - he reeled back, suddenly _nauseous_ with how much it hurt - but that was also the moment he subconsciously realised it was a dream, because Gavin was crying and not once in real life had Michael ever seen or heard of that happening.

Even if it wasn’t real, the urge to reach out and comfort him was strong, but he couldn’t move, and Gavin flung himself over Geoff’s terrible dead body and Michael was left to sit and watch the two of them, arms wrapped around himself, alone _alone_ ** _alone_** -

 

* * *

 

He jolted awake choking, choking, his mouth dry as bone as he was wracked with a sudden coughing fit. His throat felt like it was full of dust and every cough set it alight with pain, but he couldn’t stop.

When it finally subsided he lay, panting, and had no idea where he was - he thought he was back in the main bed and reached out, groping for one of the others, used to being surrounded by too many warm bodies and tangled limbs - but his hands chanced upon nothing but empty sheets and for a moment a horrid fear struck him - _was it a dream? Are they gone after all-?_

But then his hand hit the wall and he realised he was in Geoff’s guest room. And it came flooding back to him now - he was sick. The others were interstate.

 _Jesus Christ, what a fucking nightmare_.

He sat up, groggily - there was an ache behind his eyes throbbing in time with the beat from his too-fast heart. His head felt like it was full of cotton wool; he couldn’t think clearly. He didn’t think he’d ever been this cold in his life - especially, he realised, since he’d gone to bed with his sweatshirt on.

 _What time is it?_ He reached out for his phone and frowned when he realised it was two in the morning. The apartment was pitch black and completely silent.

 _Geoff. Gav_. The thought of them struck him and suddenly, suddenly - he had a frantic need to find them. Because it had just been a dream, sure, but suddenly in some fevered haze he had a desperate need to just - touch them. Make sure they were okay. That Geoff was alive.

He slipped out of bed and nearly fell over as a horrible wave of dizziness overtook him. But he straightened up, and using his phone as a torch he stumbled his way out into the corridor.

He headed for the bedroom but when he opened the door the light fell upon the bed - empty, still neatly made - and for a moment blind panic overtook him because _they’re not in here? Where the fuck are they? Are they okay, are they gone, what the fuck is going on-_

A soft snore from the next room caught his attention, and he padded out there to find, to his immense relief, the two of them sprawled on the couch together in a jumble of limbs. 

His heart nearly gave out in relief.

Geoff was there - alive, mouth hanging open, snoring gently. His head was hanging back over the arm of the couch but Michael could see the rise and fall of his breath. Gavin was sprawled across his chest, practically lying on top of him, leg twitching sporadically in the way that drove the rest of them mental whenever they tried to cuddle with him in bed.

 _They’re fine. They’re fine_.

He wanted to join them. He wanted to join them so badly, to wrap his arms around Gavin the way he hadn’t been able to in the dream. To lay his head against Geoff’s chest and hear the reassuring beat of his heart.

But he couldn’t - there wasn’t room on the couch and he’d wake them up besides. It would be awkward - then he’d have to explain - and he knew exactly what Geoff would say. Who gets upset over a dream? _Babies._

He stood. Feet feeling like they were rooted to the ground, just watching them. Again that shiver of loneliness crept down his spine, all the worse for the dream he’d just had. He ached suddenly for their touch, for their comfort, and hated himself for that weakness. _Get a grip. You’re a grown fucking man_.

Turning, he tried to head for the kitchen to get some water, but in the dark and dizzy as he was, managed to trip over the corner of the coffee table and land on the floor with a deafening _crash_!

“What the fucking fuck,” Geoff cried, awake instantly.

There was a duller thud as he sat up too fast and Gavin slid off his lap to land on the floor as well, making bird-like noises of confusion.

“Shit,” Michael croaked out, from where he lay with a mouthful of carpet and a bruised knee. “Sorry, sorry-“

Geoff was already stumbling over to turn on the light, and the sudden brightness made all of them throw up a hand, squinting. Michael squeezed his eyes shut as pain lanced through his head, because _fuck_ that was not good for his headache.

“Michael?” Gavin’s voice was thick with sleep, sounding confused as all hell. “What are you doing crashing around here like- oh bloody hell, boi, you look like crap.”

Michael sat up but his head was swimming and the next thing he knew strong arms were lifting him up and he was sat on the couch all of a sudden. Geoff’s hand pressed to his forehead and he leaned into the touch, which felt blessedly cold against his flaming skin.

“Shit on a stick, dude,” Geoff said, voice laden with worry, “You’re burning up like fuck.”

“Feel like shit,” Michael murmured, too exhausted and drained to argue otherwise - there was little point hiding it now, in any case.

“I’m getting a fucking thermometer, don’t move.” Geoff’s hand dropped to his shoulder and trailed down his arm as he turned to leave, and Michael huddled into the corner of the couch, pulling his jacket tighter around him.

Gavin flopped onto the cushions right next to him. He still looked a little confused - which was understandable considering a minute ago he’d been sleeping and now suddenly all the lights were on and they had a possible medical emergency on their hands - but he was sleep-warm and pressed close to Michael’s side, and Michael leaned into his shoulder before realising vaguely in the back of his mind that he might spread the sickness.

He pulled back, and confusion flashed across Gavin’s face.

“Alright, love?”

“Don’t wanna pass it to you,” Michael replied, his throat protesting each word.

“Oh,” Gavin said, and took this in for a minute. Then declared, very confidently, “Nahhh.”

Had he not been feeling like his head had just been turned into a giant cloud, Michael might have found the words to say no, not _nah_ , he was _definitely fucking contagious_ and no matter what Gav told himself, just _deciding_ not to get sick did not fucking work-

But the effort to convey that was too exhausting, so he dropped the thought and leaned back against Gavin, who wrapped his arms around him tightly, bending to press a soft kiss to the top of his head.

“My poor little Michael,” Gavin said, which Michael might have protested at any other time, but right now he let it slip from his mind and instead looped his arms around Gavin’s waist, buried his face in the soft fabric of his t-shirt and finally felt like he wasn’t drifting alone in that fevered sea.

He did not register much after that.

Geoff returned, at some point, and took his temperature - pestered him with a lot of questions about whether he’d taken a tylenol already, and when, and then made him swallow another one - and drifting between wakefulness and unconsciousness he was vaguely aware of someone lifting him up and carrying him. He was pretty sure it was Geoff, and he was also pretty sure that at some point he started clinging to him and wouldn’t let him go because that awful image from his dream was still in the back of his head, of Geoff lying dead on the floor.

Then the next thing he knew, he was in bed, and there were bodies cuddled close to him on either side. An arm wrapped tightly around his waist, a soothing hand stroking through his hair - and he was finally, finally warm.

He slept.

 

* * *

 

Michael woke feeling like a rinsed turd.

He was too warm - felt sticky and horrible - and for a moment he just thrashed, trying to get the covers off himself. Someone stirred next to him and the next thing he knew Gavin was sitting up, pushing the duvet back to Michael’s great relief.

“You’re awake!” Gavin said, staring at him from beneath some truly atrocious bed hair. “How do you feel?”

“Crappy,” Michael replied - his voice came out stupidly hoarse and Gavin giggled a bit at the sound. Michael swatted at him, and he stopped.

“Sorry - sorry. Reminded me of Ryan, y’know, that time.”

Michael couldn’t help but smile at that. And he still felt achy, his throat still hurt a little, and his mouth tasted like something had crawled in there, died and then _decomposed_ , but his head was clearer. Much clearer.

So clear, in fact, that as the recollection of the previous night’s events hit him, he was hit with a sudden surge of embarrassment.

 _Wow, Michael, what did you do, go crying to them because you had a fucking nightmare?  Fucking needy much_ -

“Hey, you’re awake,” Geoff said, having been roused by their voices. He sat up as well, moustache flat on one side where he’d been lying on it, and smiled at Michael before reaching to check his temperature. “And your fever broke - thank God. For a minute there I thought we might have to take you to the hospital.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Michael grumbled, automatically - and his shoulders hunched a little now, still half-expecting them both to laugh at him, but all Gavin did was lean forward and give him perhaps the most stupidly innocent kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, you’re still a bit warm, though,” Gavin observed.

Geoff was frowning now. “By the way, asshole, why the fuck didn’t you tell us you were sick?”

“Didn’t think it was that bad,” Michael replied - and it wasn’t a lie, not really, but both of them didn’t quite look like they believed him.

“Is there a reason why when Geoff carried you to bed you kept muttering ‘ _the lockers! The lockers, you fools_ ’?” Gavin asked then, a grin tugging at his lips, and Michael’s face flushed further because _fuck, okay,_ there was no way Gavin wasn’t going to mention that on the podcast later.

“Jesus Christ did I really. I had a weird dream about Outlast, that’s probably why.”

“Aw, did you have a nightmare, Michael?” There was something gently teasing in Gavin’s tone, but something must have shown in Michael’s face, because he paused. “Wait, really?”

“Shit, dude, that’s why you wandered out there to find us?” Geoff asked - and Michael knew his face must be bright red by now because _stupid, stupid_ -

“It was stupid-“

“Come on, man, we might tease you about it but we wouldn’t be _total_ assholes.” And Geoff slung an arm around him now, warm and heavy, and although he wanted to tense up Michael was just so relieved at the contact that all he could really do was lean into it. 

“I can take care of myself,” Michael replied, in a gruff last ditch attempt to save some shreds of dignity.

“I know you can, buddy,” Geoff replied then, “But you don’t have to. What are your boyfriends for, after all, if not to gently tend your fevered brow?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael laughed, but didn’t push him away. “Besides, I…”

It had slipped out without his meaning it to and it was too late to take the words back now - they were staring at him expectantly and he didn’t know what to say, how to phrase it without sounding like a whiny, paranoid baby - but his eyes darted between the two of them and Geoff picked up on it.

And Geoff, wonderful Geoff, understood somehow - he looked stricken, then concerned, then just sort of sad.

“Oh, Michael,” he said then. “Really? You’re the last one of us I expected to get insecure about… about becoming a bother, or anything like that.”

“What?” It had taken Geoff’s words for Gavin to understand, and now he was frowning, and Michael couldn’t bring himself to look at him, practically dying of embarrassment by this point. “Never, Michael - you’re my boi, remember? Team Nice Dynamite.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Michael said, and even if he was squirming a bit he still couldn’t help but smile. “I know it was stupid and I’m going to blame the whole thing on that damn fever, so.”

Geoff looked thoughtful, now.

“You know,” he said slowly, “You can move in with us whenever you want. There’s room.”

For a moment Michael considered it. And for a moment it seemed like the most marvellous idea in the world, because he _missed_ them, God he missed them, even on the single nights that they weren’t together, even if they’d seen each other at work the entire day. With the same intensity that he missed Ray and Jack and Ryan now, already longing for the moment they would return from their trip.

But at the same time he realised _no, that won’t work_ \- because there were still nights when Ray crashed at his apartment, or he and Ryan went to Jack’s - he didn’t want them to start splitting off into more small _permanent_ groups. He wanted - he wanted -

“I think all of us should move in together.” It came out before he could stop it and Geoff and Gavin paused, glancing at one another.

“Uh. Okay,” Geoff said, after a slightly awkward second. “That’s a - big step, you know, there’s _six_ of us and it’s only been four months-”

“I know,” Michael said. And his voice came out calmer now, surer - “I know, and maybe not right away. But soon. We should all at least talk about it. Agree on it.” Because he already didn’t see enough of Jack - or Ryan, either, sometimes - and even if last night’s worries had been paranoia forged by a body temperature of 102ºF, he still knew, somewhere, deep down, that the longer they stayed like this - spending more time with some members of their relationship than others - the more and more likely it was that something _would_ go wrong, eventually.

And it wasn’t something he wanted to think about - he’d rather dwell on the other alternative. All of them together, permanently - being able to come home to _all_ his boys.

Gavin looked very thoughtful, but there was a small smile on his lips and Michael knew he’d agree if only for the novelty of getting to share a living space with Ryan. And Geoff- Geoff was frowning a little, but that seemed to be more over the logistics of it than any opposition to the actual idea.

“Okay,” Geoff said then. “Okay - we’ll talk to the others when they get back."

 _When they get back_ , Michael thought - and couldn’t help but smile a bit, because they _were_ coming back - any thought otherwise had been delusional - and it wouldn’t be long now, just a couple of days more. And in the mean time - in the mean time, he had Gavin, now half-sprawled off the bed as he tried to reach his phone charging on the floor without getting up, squirming as Michael reached up under his shirt to tickle his ribs - and Geoff, arm still draped across his shoulder warm and reassuring -

And he wasn’t lonely - not really - not ever - and his boys were here, and the others would come home - _home_ , wherever they were together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> All my fics end with horribly sappy endings ahhh.


End file.
